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HOLT

Ninety.

I’m damn old.

Getting old sucks. My skin is thin now. The kids all joke that we keep the house hotter than the hot tub. I finally had to get hearing aids a couple of years ago. Merit said the neighbors could hear every football game I watched. And I had to install an elevator in the house because I was worried one of us would fall down the stairs. Merit said it made more sense for us to just move into one of the first-floor bedrooms, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave our room. Too many good things happened there.

Like making love to my wife.

Sleeping with the kids on stormy nights when they got scared.

Having late-night conversations, worried about whoever might be missing curfew and forgot to call.

A lifetime of memories.

And many of them rehashed tonight.

It was a good party. A great birthday, surrounded by family and friends. Not all of our friends, though. Some have already left us. But what do you expect? Like I said, we’re old.

Our kids were there. And the grandkids and the great-grandkids. We even have two great-great grandbabies now—twins. They’re two months old.

I’m not sure what I did to earn such blessings in life. But I have them. Blessings in abundance.

I have to say, I sure was right about one thing, though. I have super sperm.

Merit stopped taking her birth control on Daire’s second birthday. Exactly nine months to the day, Vera was born. My mom was right; that little girl kept us on our toes, not letting us sleep for one year straight. Merit stopped taking her pills again on Daire’s fourth birthday. Exactly nine months to the day, Gracie was born. Unfortunately, God had other plans, and we joined the club that no parent wants to be a part of—the same as Merit’s parents and Crutch and Ella.

Gracie was born with a rare and complex heart defect called Ebstein’s anomaly. It was discovered within hours of her birth. She survived her first heart surgery but needed another at three weeks. Her little body just couldn’t recover after that. It was the best and worst three weeks of my life. I’m not sure how Merit and I survived, but we did. We leaned on each other, fighting for each other. Fighting for our other two children. We refused to let go. And somehow, we made it out the other side, even stronger than before.

After that, Merit wasn’t sure if she wanted any more children. I left that decision in her hands, telling her I would support her, whatever she decided. Secretly, I wanted another. I wanted to bring that joy back into our lives. No one is a better mother than Merit, and she had so much love to give.

On Daire’s sixth birthday, she stopped taking her birth control pills. Without telling me. Sure enough, she got pregnant immediately. A little over a month later, she surprised me with her sonogram picture on my birthday. And with Adam, everything felt complete. That little nagging feeling telling me we needed more was finally satisfied. For some reason, it almost felt like Daire’s happiness rested in Adam’s hands. Come to find out, it kind of did.

I coached high school football until the time I retired at sixty. But I still had plenty to keep me busy—Merit’s stores, the Foundation, the sod farm, our other businesses. All are in the very capable hands of our family now. They have been for years. And everyone and everything is thriving.

Rolling over in bed, I kiss Merit’s cheek and wrap my arm around her. The sad truth is, today was a busy day. We’ll be tired tomorrow. That happens now. At our age.

“Tell me,” I demand.

She pats my hand, giving me a bone-tired, little chuckle. “I love you.”

Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, inhaling her scent, as the pull of sleep tugs at me. I’m back to sleeping how I did before we had kids. There could be a fireworks show in the bedroom, and I still wouldn’t wake up. And I don’t dream anymore. Or if I do, I don’t remember them.

But tonight is different.

Tonight, I dream.

Of Merit. Of my wife. Of the love of my life.

She’s standing on the back deck, the one that’s connected to the barn at the sod farm. It’s the middle of summer, and the setting sun is pouring light over her. She’s wearing a short white sundress and yellow and green rubber boots. Her redwood hair is piled high on her head. And when she stretches her back, she gifts me a glorious view of her round and growing belly. The belly growing our first-born son.

And I realize I never was a skeptic. I thought I was, but I was wrong.

I was just the believer waiting for Merit Eliza Browning Hill.

I was the football player who walked into her store that fateful July, looking for a pair of purple tennis shoes.